


Where The Good Ones Go

by unoriginalrhombus



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Drug Abuse, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unoriginalrhombus/pseuds/unoriginalrhombus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The girl laughs. And it's sweet, like candy, but comforting like eggnog on Christmas Day. It's warm like hot cocoa and soft like small hugs from friends. Its music in its simplest form, but it's a melody nonetheless, and it's the first melody that Santana has ever wanted to just listen to. Her ears peak in interest and her skin tingles fondly and it's a high that makes her think of first times and choir rooms. Of best friends and late nights. Of promises." AU Dantana</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Could Be The One That I Needed

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hoorah. I just like to write massive amounts of THINGS, cause FEELINGS.

The first time Santana sees  _her_ , she's incredibly drunk.

It's nearing four in the morning and she's stumbling through the last four blocks to the loft.

To be fair though, there is rarely a night (or early morning) where Santana isn't stumbling home after a ton of underage drinking. It's one of the perks of working in a bar where men and women just want to get you  _drunk_  because they figure that a drunk pretty girl is better than a sober one. Santana isn't one to complain though, free booze is just that and she's quickly figured out that being numb is better than being lonely, so she takes the free drinks and downs them with gusto.

She blames Rachel, really, mostly because it's  _easy_  but also because Rachel goes day to day like nothing has ever really changed. Rachel moves in and out like none of them have ever left Lima behind, like Blaine never cheated on Kurt, like Brittany never broke Santana's heart, like Finn never died.

**Oh, Finn.**

Santana stands still and closes her eyes tightly, her palms digging into her eyes to keep them from watering against her will. As if blocking out the world will help the ache in her heart that appears every time she thinks of that bumbling oaf from high school. It's too fresh, too real, too close and all together it's just _too much_.

It's not something that she likes to think about-it's not something she  _wants_  to think about, and Santana figures that if she can just ignore it long enough (the feelings, always the feelings) that eventually all of it will go away. Because, honestly, there are no words to give. There's nothing real that she can say to make everything better. There's no jokes or punch lines or quips that will make everything feel like they used to because Finn  _is_  gone and Rachel  _isn't_  herself and Kurt  _is_ crying whenever he thinks he's alone and Santana  _isn't_  sure what she's supposed to feel.

She's been a major contributor/participant to some of the most terrifying, complex, draining, and confusing Cheerio routines and yet Santana still can't wrap her head around the fact that Finn (stupid Finn) was here a little while ago, being an idiot, and now he's not. It's weird and dumb and when she thinks about how much of a moron Finn was, it makes her head hurt (along with her heart), and Santana can't handle it.

She  **won't**  handle it.

She has to be sane, she truly has to, because if she changes too, then nothing will feel the same anymore. If Santana lets herself fall then she's never going to get back up. And that can't happen, it just can't.

So Santana sighs. She hunches her shoulders, wraps her leather jacket tighter around her frame, and carries on her way back to the apartment because there is literally nowhere else that she can go.

* * *

 

She's about two blocks away from their little bodega when she swears that she smells breadsticks, so she takes a sharp left on instinct and lets her nose guide her. Santana’s never been one to pass up food and she wasn’t about to start now, not when her stomach is rumbling impatiently. She's barely a block into her search when she quite literally comes across a small convenience store that’s situated at the end of the block.

Santana scrunches her face in drunken confusion at the sight because she's been in New York for a few months now and she's never come across this store before. She hasn’t caught sight or even a whiff of anything small or convenient like this place and it surprises her more than it should, that she doesn’t know something for once.

It hits her a few minutes later that she hasn't really ever taken the time to explore New York-at least not yet-because it's always been one thing after another and now, well, Finn's just one thing that was after another. It’s unfortunate that his story is just caught up in all the other ones surrounding hers, Santana thinks, it’s unfortunate that whenever she hears his stupid name she’ll be forced to picture hotel rooms and empty needles.

Santana shivers and crosses her arms, not really certain if she should go in or just go home. But then she remembers that home is just  **a**  home these days, not her home, and it's enough to get her legs to start moving again towards the front door.

Santana shifts to the side and uses her right shoulder to push open the door; that way she doesn't have to touch anything. If she's learned anything so far, it's that she doesn't want to actually touch anything in this city after midnight. Who knows what kind of weird people juices could be covering it.

The bell rings behind her as the door closes. She ignores it and continues to follow her nose towards the back of the store. Santana ignores the greeting that someone yells at her and continues on her quest to find these aroma filled breadsticks. She can't make things easier or better or force anything about her current situation to make sense, but she can get breadsticks, so she's going to do it.

It's the small things, she supposes, when she walks past the snacks section.

That's when she sees  _her._

Santana literally stops in her tracks as her eyes take in the girl that's sitting in front of the alcohol case. She has blonde hair that runs past her shoulders, black rimmed glasses, this ridiculous apron with two kittens on it and a beanie at the top of her head. She's pretty, like ridiculously so, but it isn't until the girl lifts her head towards the speakers in the ceiling, closes her eyes, and just _smiles_  that Santana realizes the girl isn't just pretty, she's  _beautiful._

It hits her hard and square in the chest, nestling in between all the love and love lost that Santana's experienced recently. It's the first girl that Santana has considered beautiful since Brittany, and when that realization crosses her mind, it suddenly makes everything else worse.

It's too much change in such a small amount of time and suddenly all Santana wants to do is drink. Drinking would help erase all those memories she’s having a hard time burying. Drinking works wonders on nostalgia because it makes things bearable, and it made Santana incapable of breaking. It solved her problems and numbed the solutions and all together just built bridges instead of burning them. Alcohol was her hero here and what Santana needed was for it to save her.

So she walks forward until she's standing in front of the girl, her hands tapping anxiously against her sides. The girl is humming along to the song that's playing throughout the store and Santana has to clear her throat to get the girl to pay attention to her. The girl opens her eyes quickly but the smile doesn't fade and Santana doesn't know why but it doesn't feel  _right_. This girl is too happy in a way that's overwhelming, in a way that pushes Santana's anxiety. Santana doesn't like it, she doesn't like the way she starts to sweat underneath her boobs or the way that her pores are reeking of vodka, so she lifts her hands and places them on the counter that's separating her from the girl.

"Listen here," Santana says while baring all of her teeth. "I don't have time for you to sing merrily and have the time of your life like some badly reenacted Disney song. What I need you to do is grab me a bottle of your cheapest vodka so I can gets going, going, gone."

The girl frowns, clearly affronted, and leans back as if she's assessing Santana's statement.

After a few moments the girl raises her eyebrow and sticks out her hand.

"What do you want? A high five?"

The girl rolls her eyes and extends her arm further. "Your photo ID."

Santana doesn't say anything back. Instead she reaches her right hand into her bra and pulls out her fake ID. She ignores the weird look that crosses the other girl's face as she places the flimsy plastic into her hand. Santana gets a flash of tattoos and a name tag before the girl is retreating towards the register, but it's too fast for Santana to really see anything.

For a second Santana thinks about Finn again and Rachel's wide smile and before she can really think about it, she's drumming her fingers against the counter in irritation. There's no use thinking about name tags, tattoos, or old friends because in the end they disappear and people change and things just stop making sense.

God, nothing makes sense anymore.

Sometimes…sometimes Santana wishes that she could be seventeen again. She wishes for a time when she knew what was happening and who she was going to be, when Kurt and Rachel were happy and when Santana only saw a future with Brittany (when she saw  _the_ future with Brittany).

"Rosario?"

Santana doesn't look. By now her mind is already spiraling in the circle that is somber thoughts and rocky memories, and if she isn't careful she will sober up soon. She isn't thinking about her fake name or some insult that will make this moment feel more like real life, she’s thinking about blonde hair and trout lips. She’s thinking about Dixie Chick’s covers and grease and stupid lanky boys with awful dance moves.

"Rosario?" Santana hears again. Except this time the clerk girl is snapping her fingers in front of Santana's face and Santana has to resist the urge to go all Lima Heights Adjacent on her ass.

**(Well, it's nice to know that not everything has changed.)**

"What?" Santana asks, irritation seeping into her voice.

The girl smirks as she puts Santana's ID onto the counter. "I like your name."

"Thanks. I got it for my birthday," Santana replies dryly. Her mini dress is starting to stick to her uncomfortably and it’s because of that, that she's now realizing how cold it is. Her feet are aching in a way that only becomes apparent after drinks wear off, and her hair is slowly slipping out of the loose ponytail she had put it in earlier. She's a hot mess and she knows it, and she doesn't have time to play games. "Are we done with all the chitter-chatter yet?"

This is when  _something_ happens.

The girl  _laughs_. And it's sweet, like candy, but comforting like eggnog on Christmas Day. It's warm like hot cocoa and soft like small hugs from friends. Its  _music_  in its simplest form, but it's a melody nonetheless, and it's the first melody that Santana has ever wanted to just listen to. Her ears peak in interest and her skin tingles fondly and it's a high that makes her think of first times and choir rooms. Of best friends and late nights. Of promises.

It's a moment.

"You're funny," the girl says with a laugh. "And you're also late."

"Huh?" Santana asks, still caught up in the music that only she could hear.

The girl points to the clock behind Santana, the one hanging over the front door. "It's after four. Liquor sales are prohibited after four."

Santana frowns, but she's too thrown off to really be angry. "Fine. Whatever you say Clerk Girl." Santana reaches for her ID and turns her heel, every part of her body ready to just run. Run away from this, run away from the dynamic duo at home, run away from all of it.

"Dani," the girl corrects. She pushes her glasses up her nose and licks her lips. "My name is Dani."

Santana shrugs. "Good for you."

The girl laughs again and this time Santana closes her eyes on reflex.  _Home_ , she thinks,  _if home were a sound, this would be it._

Santana feels a hand cover hers, effectively keeping her in place. She shivers, and this time she isn't sure why. She shivers and she stands still.

"Most girls don't travel around at four am for the heck of it," Dani comments, her voice soft. Dani must lean over the counter because in an instant Santana is engulfed with the smell of citrus and chocolate. It's not a pair Santana would have ever considered putting together, but somehow it fits. This moment, this girl, this trouble (her troubles).

Santana opens her eyes in a rush and almost rears back when she sees how close Dani's face is to hers. She looks concerned and it's the first time in this city that a stranger has ever seemed concerned over her well-being. It’s strange and unsettling.

It's off putting. It's friendly. It's everything Santana isn't used to.

"Is everything okay?" Dani asks with a concerned frown, the worry evident in her voice.

Dani’s evident concern makes Santana wonder about the things she's seen. It makes her wonder if Dani actually has cause to be concerned, if she knows anything about choir room friends and love lost. Or if Santana looks as messed up as she feels. She wonders if this is the way life was always supposed to go, if she was always meant to be lost, if she was always meant to end up here.

"Rosario?"

"You smell," Santana blurts out before she can think of something more coherent and put together to say.

"What?"

"Good," Santana corrects, her cheeks burning. "You smell good."

Dani releases her hand and pulls back, a smile on her face. "Okay, Rosario." Dani says with another laugh (a laugh that's cleverly wrapped in another song). "Okay."

"Okay," Santana repeats, like it's her mantra, her body sagging uncomfortably against the counter. "Okay."


	2. Boulevard Of Broken Dreams (I Walk Alone)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Shout out to anyone who reviews! You all are lovely. Here’s an update since I’m on this updating war path. Comments would be lovely.

Santana hunches next to the door as she waits for Dani to exit the convenience store. Santana watches thru the glass as Dani throws a wave over her shoulder at the heavy, bearded, totally tattooed man—or Gus, as Dani had called him moments earlier. She doesn’t know why she stuck around, honestly, because Santana Lopez never waits for anyone.

She chooses to ignore the little voice in the back of her head that says she waited for Brittany because, yes she did, and look where that got her. Alone after four am in the city that never sleeps, waiting while some stranger finishes her work duties because said stranger is concerned for Santana’s wellbeing and this girl doesn’t even know her. It makes everything hurt more because Brittany did know her, Brittany _loved_ her, and Brittany still let her be here alone.

Santana huffs and rubs her fingers against her temple. She can feel a headache coming on. The kind of headache that only really affects you when you’re sobering up, and it’s awful because the pounding has somehow synchronized with the beating of her heart and _God_ , what’s taking this chick so long?!

Santana stomps her foot in frustration, her heels clacking loudly against the cement. She’s never been one for patience.

“If this is how you always are then I can see why you’re trudging through New York alone.” A voice comments beside her. Santana looks up just in time to see Dani close the store door and gesture toward the sidewalk with her hand. “After you.”

Santana hesitates because she’s seen Lifetime movies that have started out like this. Her mother has given her speeches that cover everything from _Stranger Danger_ to fucking _Smoky the Bear_ and each one of those conversations started off with scenarios eerily similar to this one. The honest truth is that Dani is a stranger and this could either turn out really weird or with Santana really dead.

It goes to show just how lonely she’s felt with everything when Santana decides to take her chances and starts leading the way to the apartment. Dani doesn’t comment on Santana’s hesitation, she just falls into step right next to Santana. Dani has taken the ridiculous apron off and is now covered up in a white leather jacket, her side bag bouncing from side to side. They walk in silence for a few minutes before Santana decides to bite the bullet.

She side-eyes Dani as they cross the street, her tongue already feeling razor sharp. “Do you always walk strangers home in the wee hours of the morning?”

“Only the pretty ones,” Dani answers slyly.

Santana rolls her eyes. “I could be a serial killer or something, just so you know.”

“I'm certain that you've been killing it in that dress all night,” Dani assures her. “But that's probably as close as you'll ever get to killing people.”

“How would you know?”

“I'm good at reading people,” Dani answers honestly. She waves her hands awkwardly in front of her body before sort of half-shrugging. “They've always made a perfect kind of sense to me.”

Santana looks at Dani curiously. She licks her lips and tries not to notice the way that Dani’s hair looks effortlessly put together, or how her skin seems soft, or the way her eyes shine like she really is good at reading people. Like she’s read Santana and found something there that Santana wasn’t quite ready to admit. Santana looks away after a moment, the headiness becoming too much. “What do you read from me?”

“I don't think you want to know,” Dani murmurs. Dani stops walking in the middle of the side walk and bows her head almost shyly, as if she thinks she’s said too much and now she’s embarrassed. “I think it’s too much.”

Santana doesn’t respond. Instead she nods her head and keeps walking, not really bothering to check if Dani is following her or not. Dani’s comment crawls underneath her skin a little bit. It gets to her because Santana knows that she’s intoxicated (maybe not heavily, but yes, she’s not completely sober) but it still throws her off that someone she’s barely known an hour can notice some of the things that Santana thought she was keeping hidden. Santana understands, she knows what’s there. There's this cloud that hovers over her now, always, and some days it’s hard not to let it rain all over her. She had just grown accustomed to never acknowledging it and it almost makes her blood run cold that a stranger could.

She hears footsteps behind her and decides to slow down her pace. That way Dani would have time to catch up with her. It only takes a few seconds before Dani’s silhouette appears beside her, but when she does she decides to remain quiet. They continue on like that until Santana stops abruptly in front of her stoop.

“Well,” Santana says while gesturing awkwardly at the steps. “This is me.”

Dani nods. She appears to be torn, as if she can’t decide what to do next. Dani swallows and frowns. “Look, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

“You didn’t offend me.” It’s the truth because Dani didn’t approach anything that Santana didn’t already know. She knows what’s buried in her deepest, darkest closets. Santana knows her weaknesses and she’d have to be a fool to let them fall apart just because someone else has taken notice that those weaknesses do exist. Santana inhales deeply and does her best not to look cross. “You didn’t.”

“Okay.” Dani concedes with a nod, clearly set on not treading the waters. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Isn’t that a question?” Santana rebuts with a smirk.

Dani laughs and it’s music to Santana’s ears. She thinks that maybe falling down that particular rabbit hole of thought was all worth it, as long as she’d get to hear that laugh that was so genuine and so happy again. “Is your name really Rosario?”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Santana touts, her finger wagging back and forth in front of Dani. “You already know where I live. I can’t go giving you my name too.”

“So you admit that it isn’t your name then?” Dani asks cheekily.

“No.” Santana answers firmly. “I didn’t admit anything. I’m just stating the simple fact that giving you all of my information would be crazy. You could steal my identity.”

Dani laughs again and leans in, her lips inches away from Santana’s. Santana can’t help it when her breath hitches on reflex. The last person who was this close to her was Brittany, and _dammit,_ Brittany. “What are yo—“

Dani puts a finger over Santana’s lips before leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. When Dani pulls back she looks pleased and runs her pointer finger over Santana’s bottom lip before pulling her hand back. “It was a pleasure meeting you, _Rosario._ ” Dani takes a step back and uses her hand to motion a circle in the air. “Until next time.”

“How do you know there will be a next time?” Santana asks, curiosity getting the best of her.

“I told you,” Dani says, her shoulders shrugging. “I’m good at reading people.”

Dani doesn’t let Santana reply. She just turns and starts heading back in the direction of the store—the direction that Santana assumes she lives in. Santana sighs and shakes her head before climbing the steps up towards her door. It was a welcome distraction, Dani, but like all welcome things…well, they _leave_ eventually.

She punches in the code and waits for the door to click before wrenching it open. Now that there’s nobody else around to entertain, she just feels drained and tired. Santana thinks that sometimes life is easier this way, especially now. When she doesn’t have to think about the day-to-day, she just gets up and does it.

She’s trudging her way down the hall and sliding open the door within a few minutes. As soon as the door closes shut behind her, Santana lets out a huge sigh of relief. Another day gone is more distance that she can put between herself and Lima, as if a physical representation of just how much time has passed will make it all hurt any less. She slips off her heels and places them by the door before sliding out of her jacket. She’s getting ready to throw her keys and jacket on the coffee table when she hears someone clear their throat.

Santana looks up in alarm, her body alert and ready to run, when she’s met with the anxious red rimmed eyes of one Rachel Berry. Santana doesn’t mean to sigh but it comes out anyway. She honestly thought they both wouldn’t be awake. She needed them to both not be awake, it’s easier that way.

Apparently Rachel doesn’t agree because she’s awake and just standing by the kitchen table when Santana gets home.

"I was worried about you," Rachel admits. It's funny, Santana wants to say, because it's sort of like the pot calling the kettle black.

Rachel sighs as she moves towards her sanctioned corner of the apartment. "Just send us a text next time."

There are things Santana could say, things she _should_ say about bumbling oafs from small towns, needles and drugs. But instead she stays quiet about those things, in a way that was never quite fit for her, and settles on something else entirely. "He was never going to be it for you, ya know?"

Rachel freezes at Santana’s words and when Rachel’s shoulders droop, Santana _almost_ feels guilty for speaking her mind. She’s trying hard not to be the girl who slapped a teenage boy after a stupid Glee rehearsal. She’s trying not to be the girl who says things just because she can, just because she knows others won’t, because being that girl reminds her too much of everything else. She wants to be Rosario, not Santana. She wants her worries to be about old men who don’t know when to stop hitting on her and late trains that have never come on time. She doesn’t want to worry about what it felt like for Finn’s mother when they found him all alone in that room. Santana doesn’t want to wonder if Brittany cried for him more than she cried for her. Santana doesn’t want to be selfish.

She doesn’t want to think about what it felt like to hear the news from Kurt because nobody thought she deserved a phone call. She doesn’t want to think about how heartbreak and _this_ mostly just hurt the same.

"I know.” Rachel says, her voice small. “But I was it for him."

When Rachel pulls back her curtain without another word, Santana assumes that that's what makes it worse.


End file.
